


Masterpiece

by badwolfkaily



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Pure sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:30:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfkaily/pseuds/badwolfkaily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How long had it been since Shaw had picked up a brush and tried to paint?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Masterpiece

**Author's Note:**

> After doing a rewatch last night and seeing the easel in the corner of Shaw's loft I wanted to write something about Shaw using it and her dealing with actual emotions because we know that Shaw's going to be broken when she comes back from Samaritan.

Shaw stares at the canvas in front of her, how long had it been since she had picked up a brush and tried to paint? Painting seemed to be the only civil way she could get her “feelings” out and for the longest time she had abandoned the easel in the corner of her barren loft. But since she had come out from under Samaritan’s clutches a sort of sadness had hovered over her. She was too tired to be angry about it and she kind of just gave into it. It was exhausting, feeling sadness, it wasn’t something she normally felt. But you could add it to her more pronounce emotions now. It was like someone was slowly unmuting everything she had never really felt.

So there she sat, staring out her rain covered windows, ignoring the painfully blank canvas in front of her. And then without thinking the only image that couldn’t leave her mind began to unfold on the canvas in front of her. The only person in the world created especially for her, was being created with her very hands in front of her. Staring back with those sad eyes that pierced her and made their home inside her aching heart. Sad eyes that made Shaw’s chest ache every time she met them, but her hand still painted on. And she painted on till it grew dark and she grew more fragile, than she laid her brush down and laid her weary body down so she could watch the paint try.

Nothing comes close to the real thing. But yeah this would do. Her sadness reflected in the eyes of the person she loved most in this world. Shaw wanted to scream and punch and cause chaos but she just didn’t have it in her lately. And so she cried, she couldn’t remember ever having cried in her life. But so it seemed that ever since she met Root she had slowly been evolving into something more than what she thought she’d ever be. They say there’s ways to treat people with type two axis personality disorders but that was never an option for Shaw. She liked the way she was. Not feeling things, life was a lot more black and white and so much easier. But damn, no one told her that miracles could be curses and love would ever be something she’d ever feel.

If there was such a thing as soulmates then Root was definitely it. The thought just made Shaw choke on a laugh and she buried her gaze in her pillow away from the sad eyes drying at her. She didn’t quite startle at the arms that wrapped around her so gently they thought she might break. Is that what she was now, broken? But there was Root, kissing her neck and whispering in her ear about how beautiful the painting of her was. And she could feel the hacker’s own tears falling on the back of her neck. And this must be what it feel’s like for your art to reach somebody. To move them to the point of tears. Or was it that Shaw’s own sadness made Root so very sad?

But Root won’t press her for talking, she won’t make her spill her darkest moments. The painting says everything she can’t say with words and who knew that Sameen Shaw was such a poetic painter. If Van Gogh could see her work now, he’d cry at the beauty of it all. And Shaw cries every single tear she should have ever cried and the sound will not turn back down and New York seems so much more beautiful to her now. And the arm holding her tightly won’t falter. And Sameen Shaw smiles a sad smile because even broken crayons can still color.


End file.
